


Your God, My God

by AnnieVH



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: Marcus' demons catch up with him and, after six months of respite, it's time to make a difficult decision.
Relationships: Marcus Keane/Peter Osborne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Your God, My God

The last body rolled off the deck and splashed into the freezing water below. For the first time in six hours, Marcus felt that tight grip in the pit of his stomach relaxing just enough to allow him to breathe normally; he couldn't say for sure that they'd get away with this, but the worst was over now. They'd managed to drag the corpses of three adult men out of Peter's basement, onto the boat, then into the water without being seen. It could very well be considered a miracle if Marcus felt inclined to use such a word.

Peter watched the body sink like a rock, his eyes unblinking until the ripples faded, blending in with the semi-still water. It was only then that he looked up at Marcus, awaiting further instructions. Marcus had none and he didn't dare look Peter in the eyes.

As per usual, Peter rescued him from uncomfortable silence, saying, “I'll get the bleach.”

His voice was matter-of-fact. It'd been like that since the whole ordeal began. He hadn't screamed as they'd both been dragged down to his basement, nor had he said a word when the three suited men made threats and offers in deceivingly soothing voices. God, Marcus' eyes had watered when they spoke to him in his mother's voice, throwing accusations at first, then shrieking in pain later; Peter, though, had barely flinched when the man's monotone had become the screeching of his fellow soldiers damning him to hell for letting them die. He'd just stared at the man with wide, increasingly haunted, wet eyes, and not a word left his lips.

His apathy, more than anything, worried Marcus. He'd much rather see him break down, at least then he'd understand where they stood. In situations such as this, unpredictability was a dangerous disadvantage.

An hour into this, the suits had finally given up politeness and informed him – calmly, it was always calmly with these types - that they'd start pulling the teeth out of his beloved soldier's mouth until Marcus felt more inclined to tell them where Father Tomas could be hiding.

 _I'm gonna have to lie_ , Marcus thought as he saw the three men climb the stairs to Peter's kitchen to look for pliers so that Marcus could “take a moment to reconsider whether or not he wanted to cooperate”. He was going to need a _very_ convincing lie, something to buy the both of them time, and preferably something that would keep Peter's teeth where they were.

“They're not human.”

Marcus looked up. Peter had his eyes on the basement door through which the men had disappeared. It was a short, quiet statement, but it was enough to make Marcus feel even more guilty.

He should've made more of an effort to explain the truth when he'd had the opportunity. Over the course of six months, they had danced around the topic of Marcus' previous career, Andrew Kim's mental health, and the existence of a Higher Power. Those conversations were short-lived, though, because they knew looking too closely into it would only reveal irreparable differences and unspoken resentments. Peter claimed to love him (he'd said so on two occasions already), so he wouldn't put those feelings to test by arguing over the veracity of exorcisms and the state of Andy's sanity. He'd probably spent the last six months thinking that Marcus was speaking in metaphors.

Now, reality was crashing down on him all at once and in the worst possible way, and all that Marcus had time to say to his self-identified “spiritual but not _quite_ religious” lover was “No, they're not. Not anymore.”

Bruised and exhausted, Peter had sat in front of him, absolutely immobile. He closed his eyes, leaned back against the beam he'd been tied to and Marcus thought that that would be it. The next time he'd hear Peter's voice, he'd be screaming through the blood and the pliers, begging the man who was supposed to love him (yet, had never managed to quite say so) to do something.

“We're gonna have to kill them.”

Marcus, tied to a pipe opposite him, couldn't help but stare. Peter's words were resolute. He was stating an unavoidable fact. It wouldn't be something that he'd enjoy doing, but he knew there was no way around it.

It occurred to him that, even in the unlikely chance that they survived this, there would be no going back to the quiet life he'd allowed himself to have alongside Peter. There would be no more walks in the woods at the end of the day, or sharing a glass of bourbon on his porch, or holding on to him in bed after they were too exhausted to move, wishing that peace he felt could last forever.

Once the bodies were buried, Marcus would have to leave. Peter would ask him to stay at first, more out of loyalty than whatever feeling he might have claimed to have for him, but Marcus knew he'd be secretly glad to see the back of him and his demons. And anyway, it wasn't as though Marcus had thought for a moment this was going to be forever. A quiet life on an island with a kind, loving man... that was the life of someone else. The last few months had been nothing but a stolen moment.

The following six hours were, in retrospect, a blur of blood, gunshots, and chaos. Marcus was glad about that, in a way. At least while they fought and killed and wrapped limp bodies in plastic, he didn't have to find a way to apologize for destroying Peter's life, as well as causing him to question everything he believed in. Now, with the smell of bleach mixing in with the cold night air, he was running out of excuses to be quiet.

This was going to be difficult. He should've left without saying goodbye. If he'd packed and left when he'd first heard the voice of God, if he'd left nothing behind but an apologetic note, then Peter would've been allowed to go back to his uncomplicated reality. But no, he had to, he just _had to_ see him one last time. To explain. To say how thankful he was, and how happy, how truly _happy_ he'd been by Peter's side.

If he hadn't been so selfish, Peter would have been fine, his godless world intact, two healthy molars still in his mouth.

After taking a deep breath, Marcus said, “You didn't deserve this,” because saying he was sorry wouldn't have been enough.

Peter kept his eyes on the deck, his shoulders slumped. He was rubbing his left shoulder and Marcus worried he might have pulled something while dragging the suits out of the basement. He'd said, quite stubbornly, that everything was fine, he wasn't an old man just yet, but Marcus knew that shoulder had been a pain for years and he really shouldn't push his luck. The left side of his face was swollen, too, but at least his mouth had stopped bleeding.

“You didn't ask to be dragged into this and I'm sorry,” Marcus went on when Peter didn't even look at him. “And I know today has been painful and overwhelming. But I need-”

“You were twelve when you started doing this?” Peter cut in, still rubbing his shoulder.

Of all the things Marcus had expected to hear, this had not been one of them. He said, “It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter.”

Marcus could have argued, but there was no time for that, so he answered, “Something like twelve. Though the... cleaning up wasn't always this messy.”

“Cleaning up was easy,” Peter said. He stopped rubbing his left shoulder and leaned against right coaming, the way he always did. They might as well be out for a nightly sailing. Then, he shook his head. “No, cleaning up was hell. But I'd much rather go through all of this again than be locked in a room with those _creatures_ for another ten minutes.”

It wasn't enough, but Marcus still said it: “Peter I am so very sorry you had to go through this.”

Peter shook his head again, “When you said you were an exorcist, I thought Andy – whatever it is that was wrong with him – I thought he was the exception. I thought it was all quiet bedside prayers, you know. Caring for the ill. Last rites, I don't know. Missionary work. I didn't think-” He motioned vaguely at the island they had left behind. “I didn't think _this_. This is... twelve is too young to be doing something like that.”

Marcus didn't know what to say. Something in Peter's eyes rendered him completely mute.

He stood on the same spot they'd kissed for the first time, looking at Peter at a loss for words because it was as though this nice, mundane man who'd been more patient and loving than Marcus deserved had finally understood everything. All of the puzzle pieces that Marcus had been to him had fallen into place and the way he was made sense now.

No wonder Marcus had always been so broken.

No wonder he tossed and cried in his sleep.

No wonder he flinched every time Peter put his hands on him.

No wonder he'd had a bloody panic attack the first time Peter told him he loved him.

Marcus was ashamed of his broken pieces, of the way that Peter was looking at him right now, even though there was no pity in his eyes. On the contrary, it was something like admiration. He was truly amazed that Marcus could be standing in front of him, that he'd made it this far walking alone through a world this vicious.

Marcus managed a shrug. What else was there to say?

“Did you always have to do this by yourself?” Peter asked.

“I wasn't alone. God was with me,” Marcus said, but there was no comfort in such words anymore. If anything, they sounded worn out. He added, “Tomas was there, too.”

“Good. That's good. I can't wait to meet him.”

It was said so gently that Marcus almost didn't catch it. Peter was already at the helm of the boat by the time Marcus followed him and stated, “You're not coming with me.”

That didn't even faze Peter, who was already starting the boat again. “I am. And that is the end of it.”

“No, it is not the end of it. You're turning the boat around-”

“War is not a private affair, Marcus,” Peter said, giving no indication that he would just do as he was told. “I don't get the luxury of learning of this and doing nothing about it.”

“Yes, you do-”

“No, I don't.” He was looking at him now. “It's not up for debate. If not because it's the right thing to do, and if not because I love you-”

“Stop saying that-”

“If not because of that, then because you shouldn't march into war alone, Marcus. That's just idiotic.”

“I'm used to being by myself.”

“Well, this bullshit ends here. Where are we going first?”

Marcus opened his mouth, stuttered half-words, then went quiet again. He wished he could claim, loud and petulant, that Peter simply didn't get it – except that he did. It didn't matter what he was now, Peter hadn't stopped being a soldier any more than Marcus had stopped being a man of faith. It was ingrained into him. It was who he was. Marcus might have known the word of God, but Peter knew war. He'd marched into battle countless times before, always flanked by a band of brothers. He'd never been alone because loneliness in a battlefield meant death.

Now, Marcus, who'd come into this relationship with an eye always on the door, a backpack in the closet already packed, and the firm belief that there would come a day, for one reason or another, when Peter would disappear from his life... Marcus was faced with the fact that this man who claimed to love him was not going anywhere.

“Marcus, I mean it,” Peter insisted, looking ready to fight him on it. “Where are we-”

Marcus didn't say anything. Instead, he threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Peter as tight as he can because he knew – he just _knew_ – that nothing he said was going to hold two weeks from then when they were filthy and bruised and being chased by a hoard of angry demons. But at that moment, he was going to steal the next few minutes and pretend there was a chance they were going to get through this, just like Peter said.

At that moment, he was not alone.

He was never going to be alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> It took me long enough, but I finally managed to write an ending of sorts for Marcus and Peter.
> 
> The title is from Ruth 1:16.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it :)


End file.
